


You Care about your Friends

by makingitwork



Series: Sherlock Holmes and Doctor Watson [3]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Can be read as stand alone, Happy Ending, Injured John, M/M, Nobody Dies, Sherlock Cares, Tortured John, all of them could, give it a chance, some violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-10
Updated: 2014-12-10
Packaged: 2018-02-28 23:09:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,452
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2750549
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/makingitwork/pseuds/makingitwork
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Sherlock tells John he doesn't care about him, John gets kidnapped by Moriarty and...</p><p>you'll have to read it, won't you? :)</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Care about your Friends

"Sherlock..." John sighed "You can't say that."

"Say what? That I don't care about anyone? Because I don't, John. It's true. You know that." His brown eyes sparkle, as he tugs off his lab goggles, and sets them on the table, tousled brown curls impeccable despite the soot that covers his forearms and shirt.

"Sherlock..." John struggles "You do care about people. You care about your brother, Mycroft. You would care if he died, wouldn't you?"

Sherlock pondered the thought for a moment, before shrugging "People die every minute of every day, John. You're a soldier, you should know death better than anyone. If Mycroft died, there would be one less person hassling me. I don't care about anyone."

"But Sherlock!" John hated sounding whiny, but he couldn't escape it that time "If you say you don't care about anyone than you...you don't care about me." And he knows it sounds selfish, but at least he's said it and its out there, he waits, holding his breath, but Sherlock simply turns back to his rack of test tubes, shrugging non-committedly

"Well I don't."

John can only stare, waiting for maybe a retraction? A sense of regret? But suddenly the test tube is turning blue, and Sherlock's turning his back to him. "Right," he says quietly, picking up his coat "I'm going to...go for a walk." He hovers for a moment, but Sherlock is muttering to himself, so John ducks out, the cold night air crisp and prickling against his skin and so different from the sweltering heat of Afghanistan. He closes his eyes for a moment, the air is almost moist from a recent rain, and he inhales deeply, except the stinging taste of leather is harsh against his tongue, and someone is shoving him into a van. All goes black.

...

...

...

Sherlock is still watching the different effects of solutions on human teeth, when his phone buzzes. It's over in the dining room, so he calls out "John, phone!" Except no answer comes. The tall, lithe man glances at the clock, eyebrows coming together. It's been three hours. That's a long walk. He crosses the apartment himself, knowing this might be John, except the number is blocked. Could be Mycroft. But Sherlock knows it isn't, he has that feeling he gets when everything's gone wrong.

"Ah, Sherlock," comes that voice, that incredibly distinctive voice

"Moriarty." Sherlock hisses, hands tightening "Where's John?"

"Oh well yes, it's a bit too late for a heroic rescue attempt I'm afraid, but if you want to see him, we're down by the pool. I'd say don't bring any back up, but I know you're smarter than that." And he's gone. Sherlock's running, sprinting, and when he gets there, the light is dark and eerie, and John is tied to a cross, and Sherlock swallows thickly. John,  _god it's John,_ shirtless, arms strung up on either side of the cross, legs hanging limp, like Jesus Christ getting crucified. He's bleeding everywhere, and Sherlock's eyes dart for the cause of the blood but there are so many injuries he can't focus. "I've always been one for the theatrics, I'm afraid," Moriarty chimes, stepping out of the shadows, he's so immaculately dressed, Sherlock wishes he'd thrown something more on. Just to even the playing fields a little. Another man steps out beside him, this one is large and tall, and undoubtedly just muscle, he's holding a dagger stained with blood. John's blood.

"Let him go." Sherlock hisses "He hasn't done anything to you."

"No," Moriarty nods, "Quite right, Sherlock. As usual," he smiles, as though he's playing Sherlock some kind of compliment "But you haven't been taking me seriously. I figured killing your little pet here might send the right message." He nods at the bulky man, who slides the dagger into a bloody part of John's torso, deep and twisting, and John just makes a little grunt of acknowledgement. "Your brother once told John that he was very loyal, very quickly, did you know that?"

Sherlock shakes his head.

"Well...do you? Do you think he's very loyal very quickly?"

Sherlock nods.

Moriarty smiles "All very good qualities in a pet," he nods approvingly "I can see why you chose him." He snatches the dagger from the bulky man, but Sherlock doesn't dare make a move while his back is turned. He can practically taste the red dot aimed at his heart. Moriarty cuts the robes holding John up, and he falls, crumpled to the floor, awake now, awake and in blinding pain. Moriarty slips off his gloves, and grips John's short hair hard, yanking it back, and Sherlock feels an unimaginable anger rush through his veins "Smart, he's a doctor. Brave, he's a soldier. Yet he's submissive, does whatever you say, doesn't he, Sherlock?"

"Stop this." Sherlock whispers "Stop this now."

"It's almost over," the criminal consultant promises soothingly "Just...on all fours for me, Doctor Watson- John. Can I call you John? There we go. Just complete the picture for me." John is unsteady on his hands and knees, and then Moriarty delivers a kick to his ribs, and he _howls._ That what Moriarty was waiting for, because he turns to Sherlock, smirking "I'm sure you get the message." He clicks his fingers, and the red dot is gone. "I must be off now, Sherlock. But I uh..." he smiles "Hope to see you soon." And there's the click of the door.

Sherlock doesn't wait, he runs to John, collapsing onto his knees on the sticky floor, rolling John over. There are tears stinging his eyes. "John, John, are you okay?"

John's breathing heavily, catching on every inhale, he's still trying not to show the pain. Damn soldier, Sherlock thinks fondly, tears dripping slowly down his angular cheeks. "I'm f-f-fine." He hisses, teeth clenched "G-g-go after h-him."

"No." Sherlock hisses, holding John tight, "I'm gonna phone an ambulance, you're gonna be fine, I promise." And he's texting Lestrade with one hand, because he knows if anyone can get to them on time with a medical team, it's Lestrade.

"N-n-not gonna make t-this one, S-Sherlock." John smiles softly, reaching a hand up to grip Sherlock's bony wrist, he coughs, a drop of blood and saliva land on Sherlock's knee. "G-go-got all the main org-gans punctured- not gonna- sorry."

"No," Sherlock repeats, his jaw aches. "No."

"'m not your pet," John says quietly, and Sherlock nods vehemently "'m your friend."

Sherlock hushes him, and hears sirens in the background "Just hang on, okay? Almost there. Almost there now, just hang on-"

...

...

...

"And are you his partner?" The doctor asks, and Sherlock glares at him, but knows he has to lie to gain access.

"Yes, fiancé actually, can I got and see him yet?"

"He's in a medically-induced coma, give his body time to heal itself, you should probably let him rest."

"Oh come on," Sherlock snaps "I'm not gonna go in there and force him to go jogging with me, I just want to see him!" The Doctor relents, and Sherlock is closing the door, seeing John, face hidden with clear tubes and wires, blanket pulled up his shoulders, peaking out from underneath is the hospital forced gown. "Coma patients can hear things that are going on around them," Sherlock says gently "And uh...Moriarty never intended to kill you, just wanted to...scare me. Let me know how easily he could get to me." Sherlock sits down, crossing on leg over the other flourishingly "A few months ago, nothing would have scared me. But you John...you're a weakness." His eyes flickered up to the ceiling "The best type of weakness. My favourite weakness. You, impossible Doctor John Watson, with your medal of bravery, are my Achilles heal, and without you...I wouldn't be human. So...yeah," he stands again, wiping his suddenly sweaty palms on his legs "Hurry up and get better. And stop changing the password of your laptop. Just accept it."

John's out of hospital two weeks later, mostly fine, and healed up. He's recovered from worse.

"I don't suppose you'd believe me telling you the pain was psychosomatic?"

John laughs, head tipping back in delight "I wouldn't believe you, no."

Sherlock reaches for John's laptop, and tries not to hide his smile.

The password lock is gone, and the screen saver is now a picture of Sherlock and John captured by one of the newspapers. He tries not to smile, but of course, John sees through it. "I thought everybody dies."

"Not you," Sherlock says instantly "Not Doctor John Watson. I couldn't be Sherlock without Watson."

"You care."

"You'd have been a fool to ever believe otherwise."

John snorts into his tea.

**Author's Note:**

> Comment and I'll LOVE YOU! Also, prompts?  
> x


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